


Baker's Creed

by fhartz91



Series: Klaine Advent 2019 [6]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Daddies!Klaine, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, New York City, Vogue Kurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-19 09:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22008472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/fhartz91
Summary: Kurt and Blaine have been competing with one another their entire relationship. Now, without knowing it, they're competing for their daughter's affection. Will they work things out before it destroys their kitchen?
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Series: Klaine Advent 2019 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559431
Comments: 10
Kudos: 39
Collections: Klaine Advent 2019





	Baker's Creed

**Author's Note:**

> Written to include the Klaine Advent 2019 prompts creed, lecture, and quarrel, as well as the Glee Potluck Big Bang prompts cookies, sick, and charity.

Blaine wakes up to an empty bed, a script weighing down his chest, and the sinfully sweet smell of Kurt’s chocolate chip cookies wafting through the air.

“Mmm … cookies for breakfast,” he mutters through heavy lips. Next to sex, it’s his favorite way to wake up. He inhales deep. “Time to get myself some sugar.” He giggles at his own suggestive remark, giddy with sleep drunkenness. He moves the script to the side and stretches, using the opportunity of a (temporarily) empty bed to monopolize as much space as possible. The stiffness in his arms unravels, his back cracks, and a feeling of utter euphoria fills his body.

“ _Ahhhh_. This is nice.”

He turns to Kurt’s side of the bed and blows it a kiss. It strikes him for a moment that Kurt being out of bed already is a bit odd, but he can’t remember why. So, as his mind starts to clear, he runs down the check list.

_What day is today?_

Thursday.

Okay. Makes sense then. Kurt _should_ be up and getting ready for work.

Blaine smiles, rolling on his side and cozying up to his husband’s pillow. He inhales again.

Kurt’s pillowcase still smells like him.

Blaine hugs it, running his nose along the crease that once cradled Kurt’s ear.

“Yes, Kurt,” he whispers, imagining himself in the kitchen, standing behind his husband, arms wrapped over his as Kurt prepares dough for the baking sheet. “Let me help you roll some balls, hmm? Whaddya say? You always tell me how good I am at …”

 _No_!

The word pings through Blaine’s brain like a paddle ball, knocking the daydream from right out of his head.

It’s not Thursday. It’s _Friday_. _Yesterday_ was Thursday. That’s when Blaine got the script for his new pilot, _Mutiny on the Bounty –_ a campy, madcap comedy about a team of armored car thieves/assassins who manage to pull off the most dangerous and insane heist of the year by screwing every single thing up. The writing is stellar, the cast (comprised entirely of LGBTQ actors) revolutionary. JVN has been on board with the project since go and Blaine couldn’t be more excited to share billing with him.

Best of all, his daughter Tracy – 14-years-old and a _huge_ Queer Eye fan – now looks at Blaine as if he walks on water. Considering what raising a teenager has been like thus far, Blaine is _ecstatic_ that he’s managed to pull that off.

They were going to celebrate last night by having dinner at Per Se, and then he and Kurt were going to do some _adult_ style celebrating after Tracy fell asleep, but Kurt started running a fever and …

 _Shit_!

Blaine sits straight up in bed, nearly tossing Kurt’s pillow across the room, becoming both sober and awake in a blink, which makes his head throb.

Kurt has the flu!

Blaine looks at the empty spot again. The last Blaine remembers of his husband, he was high on NyQuil and fast asleep.

So what was he doing in the kitchen baking _cookies_?

Memories start flying at him hard and fast, and that’s when it finally hits him.

_Bake sale!_

The bake sale to raise money for the field trip to Washington D. C. that Tracy has been looking forward to since they found out about it at the beginning of the school year.

The bake sale Tracy failed to remind them about until BEFORE BEDTIME!

The bake sale that parents are _required_ to participate in as half of their children’s citizenship grade and which the school would not simply allow them to cut a check to avoid.

“We are not a _charity_ , Mr. Anderson,” Mrs. Palmer, Tracy’s principal (who sort of reminds Blaine of the dean from _Monsters University_ ), had said when he asked. “We have the money in our budget to accommodate _all_ of our children. But if we, too, cut a check every time a teachable moment arises, we wouldn’t be much of a school, now, would we?”

Blaine had agreed to her face then spent an entire ride back to their house in his Mercedes replaying that moment with the addition of him buying the school outright _with a check_ and firing her just to make himself feel better.

Kurt had been determined to make those cookies. But Blaine told Kurt not to worry about it, go to bed and sleep off being sick. He’d take care of it in the morning. Blaine even set his alarm clock for three a.m. so that he could do it. He glances over at his phone, the time on the screen reading 3:45 a.m. He glares at it, wondering why the alarm didn’t go off when it should have. Squinting harder, he sees why.

The little clock icon beneath the numbers, the one that indicates an alarm has been set, is no longer there. Blaine remembers vividly it being there when he went to bed. He’d double checked.

Then _triple_ checked.

Which means Kurt had been feigning sleep until Blaine passed out, then crept downstairs to make the cookies himself!

Because he’s _stubborn_.

And now, Blaine has to go into the den of the dragon and persuade him to abandon his cookies and come back to bed.

 _Fun_.

Blaine sighs. He swings his legs over the side of the bed but he doesn’t let his feet touch the floor. Then he sighs again. He’s not looking forward to the Battle Royale he’s heading into, but he has to do it. He has to get his husband back to bed by any means necessary.

Parts of his body twitch in excitement when the image of him throwing Kurt over his shoulder and carrying him back to their room kicking and protesting leaps to mind, and he scowls.

“Not _now_ ,” he grumbles. He stands up, slides his feet into his slippers, and heads to the kitchen.

The sounds of his miserable husband baking while physically unwell come to him in stages.

First, the sharp ringing of metal utensils hitting the sides of metal bowls.

The mixer running is next, then a timer for the oven goes off.

Finally, the sniffling, the sneezing, and the coughing, which should be a giant red flag to someone like Kurt (both a perfectionist _and_ a germaphobe) that baking isn’t the brightest idea right now.

Blaine’s not going to point that out. It’s simply an observation.

Blaine pads quietly into the kitchen. Kurt doesn’t seem to notice – eyes red-hot and blurry with fever. He slides past Blaine twice without looking his way, making Blaine wonder if his husband may, in fact, be sleep-baking.

“Kurt? Honey?” he says in a low, calm voice so as not to startle him. “It’s almost four in the morning. You have the flu. You have to get some sleep.”

Kurt sniffles. “I don’t care,” he says in a ragged, rough voice. “I’m not done! I have four more batches in the oven, nine on the counter ready to go. I have to finish before seven.”

“Then let me do it for you. I told you I would.”

“I can’t let you _do it for me_!” Kurt grumbles, stirring chocolate chips into a bowl that Blaine is 88% certain has nothing else in it. “ _I_ started these cookies and _I’m_ going to finish them!”

“I don’t understand, Kurt! What’s the big deal? They’re just _cookies_!”

Kurt gasps, the quick intake of breath through his dry throat starting a massive coughing fit – one that Blaine stands patiently through till the end so that his husband can continue lecturing him. “They’re not just cookies! These are my _mother’s_ chocolate chip cookies!”

“I know! And I’ve made them with you for over a decade so I can definitely finish these!”

“It’s not that you _can’t_ do it! It’s that I _don’t want_ you to do it!”

“Why not?”

“It’s the principle of the matter, Blaine!” Kurt argues, trading his chip-filled bowl for a baking sheet. “I have promises to keep! Oaths to uphold! A whole … a whole … baker’s creed!”

Blaine’s face pinches, but he keeps himself from laughing, even once, as that would not go well. “A … a baker’s _creed_?”

Kurt stops rushing from counter to oven with a baking sheet of uncooked dough in his hands long enough to glare at his husband with steely, red-rimmed eyes. “It’s a real thing, _Blaine_! Look it up!”

“How about I just take your word for it?”

“Whatever.”

“Come on, honey.” Blaine tries to cut Kurt off, tries to swipe the baking sheet from him, but he doesn’t have much success. “It’s not that big a deal!”

“Of course it’s not that big a deal to you, Mr. Big Movie Star who just landed a movie starring Jonathan Van Ness!” Kurt laughs, then snorts, then hacks so loudly his throat sounds like it’s going to explode. “You’ve _won_! Conquered the teenage years ahead of schedule, jumped to the head of the class!”

“Is that what this is all about?” Blaine asks, gesturing at the mess Kurt has made in the kitchen, completely out of character for him. He’s not baking for the enjoyment of it. He’s baking out of _vengeance_ \- to get back at Blaine. “Kurt! I worked _hard_ to get that role!”

“I never said you didn’t! But there are a hundred things I’ve worked hard to accomplish here in this house! Accomplish with our precocious daughter! And right when I feel like I’m slipping back to the starting line _again_ , you find a way to bypass all of that and leap ahead!” Kurt sighs. No – flattens is more the word. He sinks to the floor, sitting amidst starbursts of baking soda, and sets the baking sheet indelicately onto the tile. “The same way you always do.”

Blaine looks down at his poor husband, hugging his knees on the powder-covered ground. Then he looks around the kitchen, at the cookies Kurt had been throwing together in an attempt to have them all done by the morning – all wrapped up for Tracy to take. His mother’s chocolate chip cookies, by far the most popular cookie he bakes. It’s his signature cookie, all his by now since he’s made little tweaks here and there – a bit more brown sugar, a bit less white, one more egg yolk, cake flour instead of all-purpose, which Blaine would have advised against but, as always when it comes to baking matters, Kurt was right. These cookies have been Kurt’s claim to fame at PTA meetings and bake sales all over Manhattan for the entirety of Tracy’s life. But most of all, they’re the first cookies Tracy ever helped him make.

And they’re her favorites.

And whether making these cookies actually does anything to move the needle in Kurt’s favor, he needed to accomplish this by himself. _For_ himself. Raising his self-esteem wasn’t dependent on Tracy so much as it was dependent upon _Kurt_.

Blaine sees that now.

“You’re right, Kurt,” Blaine says, sliding down the cabinet to join him. “I lucked out. I found the Golden Ticket, without even knowing that’s what it would turn out to be. But I didn’t do it to undermine you! I swear to God I didn’t!”

“Swearing to God doesn’t really help your case here.”

“And me getting one awesome role doesn’t wash away all the amazing things you’ve done for Tracy these past fourteen years - the homemade Halloween costumes, the sing-a-longs, the school plays you’ve volunteered to direct, the school trips you’ve chaperoned, the bake sales and the cookies and the birthday cupcakes.” He inches closer, bumps their shoulders together. “All the nightmares you’ve chased away, the tears you’ve dried. Kurt … one role in one stupid movie can’t compete with any of that. To tell you the truth, that’s why I was so over-the-moon when she got excited about it. Because I’m not the one she goes to when she wakes up in the middle of the night, or when she falls and scrapes her knee, or when she needs cookies for a bake sale. It’s _you_.”

Kurt reaches for Blaine’s hand, weaves their fingers together. “She goes to you, too.”

Blaine shakes his head. “Not as much. Not since she was about seven. I don’t know what changed but she was your girl after that.”

Kurt peeks at Blaine, his head the one hanging now, gazing at their joined hands with watery eyes.

“It’s not a stupid movie,” Kurt says. “It’s going to be a kick-ass amazing movie, and you know it.”

“But it’s not as important as Tracy. Or _you_. And, yeah, she’s all gaga about it _now_ , but I’m going to be gone for how many months?”

“Oh,” Kurt says sadly. “I didn’t think about that.”

Blaine’s head finds his husband’s shoulder and rests there. “There’s so many things we compete over. Tracy’s affection shouldn’t be one of them. She loves us both. I know that, even if I have to remind myself over and over some days.”

“You’re right. I know you’re right. It’s just been hard lately, watching her follow you around like a puppy, begging to read through lines with you and talking about becoming an actress when yesterday she was reading over my copy for _Vogue_ and talking about becoming a designer and asking Isabelle how old she has to be to intern and … _oh_ …” Kurt repeats, realization springing to life in his brain at how often Tracy goes to the office with him, helps him pick through his photographs, gives her two cents on fabric choices, helps him accessorize models …

 _Oh_ …

“Yup,” Blaine says as if he can read his husband’s mind. “Tomorrow she might wake up and tell us she wants to be a neurosurgeon because Louis Tomlinson decided to give up singing and go to medical school so who knows? If you’ve taught me anything about raising kids it’s that they change their minds like the wind. In fact, pretty much everything I know about raising our daughter I’ve learned from you, and do you know why?”

“Hmm?”

“Because you’re an amazing father.”

Kurt smiles, kisses the top of Blaine’s head. “So are you.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Blaine brings Kurt’s hand to his mouth and gives it a kiss. They melt into one another on the kitchen floor, content to remain there, nestled in their puddle of baking soda, surrounded by the scent of chocolate chip cookies, until sun up. But something in the vicinity of the oven pops, interrupting their serene moment.

“So, are you ready to power down the oven and head to bed?” Blaine asks, eyeing the appliance anxiously.

“But what about the cookies? The school needs them in four hours!”

“I’ll get them whipped up. No problem.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Blaine hops up and helps a wobbly Kurt to his feet. “You run along and climb under the covers. I’m going to check some things out down here, then I’ll come in and tuck you into bed.”

Kurt peers at Blaine, his mind working, searching for an argument. “I don’t know. I still think …” He starts to keel forward and Blaine catches him. And Kurt nods, that being the end of that. “All right. I’m going.”

“Good.” Blaine smacks his husband on the behind as he shuffles away. He can’t help it. Even under-the-weather, his nose as red and watery as his eyes, he’s the sexiest man in the universe.

Blaine decides to start with the oven, figuring he should check on whatever that was that exploded before it does it again and takes the whole house with it. Cautiously, he opens the oven door. Before he can peek inside, a disgustingly sharp smell assails his nose and stings his eyes, forcing him to back away. Through barely-open lids he sees Kurt’s latest batch, which has melded into one single cookie, weighing down the baking sheet so much, the wire rack has begun to buckle.

This, he decides, could be a problem.

“Uh … Kurt?”

“Yeah?”

“What did you put in these?”

“The usual – sugar, butter, chocolate chips, vanilla …”

Blaine scans the kitchen while Kurt talks, finding each ingredient when he mentions it. Suspicious of one item in particular, he asks, “Did you put flour in these?”

“Of course I did! What do you take me for? An idiot?”

“No. Not at all. What flour did you use?”

“Cake flour.”

“Which bag?”

“That bag by the counter,” Kurt answers with a vague wave.

Blaine looks toward the counter, his eyes growing to comical width. “The one on the counter counter, or the one on the floor?”

“The one on the floor, I guess. What does it matter?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Blaine says. “N-not at all.” But that’s a lie. Because the bag of flour on the floor isn’t _flour_. It’s _cement_ , from the kitchen remodel they’ve been planning. “I think … I’m just going to shut the oven off for now and run a few errands.”

“Errands? What _errands_?” Kurt asks in alarm. “It’s four in the morning!”

“I know.” Blaine grabs his coat and keys. “I just … I’m going to go get some bagels. For breakfast …” _Along with nine dozen replacement cookies and a HAZMAT suit._

“Well, don’t take too long. And be careful.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you.”

On his way out the door, Blaine giggles to himself.

Because he’s going to solve this problem by writing a check.


End file.
